


the part we choose to act on

by Sanna_Black_Slytherin



Series: The Other 51 [9]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Dark Harry Potter, Dark Lord Harry Potter, Gen, Harry Potter is Lord Voldemort's Son, Harry Potter is a psychopath at the end, NaNoWriMo, Nature Versus Nurture, Non-Linear Narrative
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-26
Updated: 2016-11-26
Packaged: 2018-09-02 05:55:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8653399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanna_Black_Slytherin/pseuds/Sanna_Black_Slytherin
Summary: 'We've all got both light and dark inside us. What matters is the part we choose to act on. That's who we really are. - Sirius BlackThe one where Dumbledore raises Harry, but he falls anyway.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I am not fully satisfied with this fic, but as I am on a tight schedule, I do not have time to edit it to my full satisfaction. I am working on a Hamilton fanfiction next.

“It's true, then?” Professor McGonagall said hesitantly. “After all he's done... all the people he's killed... he couldn't kill a little boy? It's– it's unbelievable... of all the things to stop him... but how in Merlin's name did little Harry survive?”

Dumbledore hesitated. “I don't know for sure, but I have my suspicions. Do you recall the conversation we had a few weeks ago?”

Professor McGonagall nodded her head, realization shining brightly in her eyes. “Oh! Do you mean that You-Know-Who–“

“Voldemort,” Dumbledore interrupted her with a pointed look.

She heaved a sigh. “–that Voldemort,” she emphasized the word. “couldn't kill Harry because of... because of _that_?”

Dumbledore gave her a vague nod and McGonagall heaved another sigh while closing her eyes. Meanwhile, Dumbledore took a golden watch from his pocket and examined it. It was a very odd watch. It had twelve hands but no numbers; instead, there were little planets moving around the edge. It must have made some sense to Dumbledore, though, because he eyed it before murmuring, “Hagrid's running late. I suppose it was he who told you I'd be here tonight?”

“Yes, and I don't suppose you could tell me why you're here, out of all places?”

“I am here to bring Harry to his aunt and uncle. They're the only family he has left now.”

“You cannot possibly mean them!” Professor McGonagall jumped to her feet with a furious expression on her face. “I've been observing them the whole day. They're the worst kind of Muggles one could possibly–”

She was interrupted, however, by a low rumbing sound. It grew steadily lounder as the pair of them looked up and down the street for some sigh of a vehicle. Imagine their surprise when they realized the headlights came from the sky. A mere moment later, a motorcycle fell out of the air landed in front of them.

There were two people sitting on the motorcycle, the smaller of them seemed to be holding a bundle of sorts. The man was sporting black, disheveled hair; the same could be said about his hair. There was a wild look in his silver eyes, which seemed to be shining in the moonlight.

The man behind him was huge–at least twice as tall as a normal man and at least five times as wide. Long tangles of bushy hair and beard hid most of his face, he had hands the size of trash can lids, and his feet in their leather boots were the size of baby dolphins.

The younger man jumped out of the motorcycle. The bundle in his arms twitched a little, but stayed still. The young man surveyed his surroundings. “Drops, P'fessor!” Sirius exclaimed. “You have no idea know how relieved I am to see you here!”

“Likewise, Sirius my boy,” Dumbledore with twinkling eyes. “But I must ask, what are you doing here? Surely you'd like to celebrate?”

Sirius' mood darkened. “Turns out there isn'tt much to celebrate, huh?”

Professor McGonagall put a comforting hand on the younger man's shoulders. “I know the death of James and Lily is a lot to deal with, but–”

“It's not about them,” Sirius cut her off. “So you haven't heard the bad news yet, huh? No wonder you think Harry will be safe with those Muggles,” he spat out the last word as though it was poison.

“What do yeh mean, Sirius?” Hagrid asked in his usual voice.

“Turns out Voldemort isn't as dead as we thought he was.”

Silence followed the revelation as the three Hogwarts residents took in the news. Or, tried to.

“But surely you are wrong,” Professor McGonagall shook her head. “You must have misheard.”

“I wish I did,” Sirius' expression was grim. “But they searched the destroyed area at least half a dozen times using every method possible. They found nothing. No body, no wand, nothing.”

Professor McGonagall put her face in her hands as the truth finally hit her full force. “Sweet Morgana... He isn't dead... Oh Merlin...”

“P'fessor, I'm pretty certain Merlin _is_ in fact dead. Since pretty long ago, I'm sure,” Sirius remarked dryly. “But I see what you mean.

“The thing is, Harry isn't safe with _them_ ,” he jerked his head in the direction of Privet Drive number four.

Dumbledore sighed. “But what else can we do with him? Take him in? Which one of us would do that?”

Three pointed looks were sent his way. Dumbledore saw them and quickly retorted, “You cannot possibly be considering this! I can barely look after myself at times, let alone after a child!”

“Professor Dumbledore, yeh're a good man,” Hagrid tried. “Yeh're the best person ter take care o' 'im.”

“Albus, really,” Sirius said, an amused glint in his eye. “You take care of thousands of kids every day. One more kid can't really be _that_ hard–”

“I don't actively take care of them! I'm just their Headmaster,” Dumbledore said in his defense.

“Stop chickening out, would you?”

“Albus, if anyone can take care of Harry, it's you,” Professor McGonagall added her support.

Dumbledore sighed. It seemed that he was fighting a lost battle. And it wasn't true that he didn't want to take care of the child, he was just unsure if he could keep Harry from going down the same path his father took...

Dumbledore heaved another weary sigh. “Very well. I will take care of Harry.”

Sirius smile and reached over to give Harry to Dumbledore. “Don't worry, we'll help you with Harry,” he said with a grin. “Sometimes.”

* * *

"Potter, Harry!" said Professor McGonagall's voice clearly.

Suddenly, silence fell all over the Great Hall as the whispers died down. Everyone's eyes were firmly fixed on the first years' crowd. Had Harry not been used to the attention, he might have been feeling uncomfortable. But, being raised in the wizarding world where he was practically worshipped for being the Boy-Who-Lived, as well as the adopted son of the great Albus Dumbledore, he was used to getting this much attention. He took a confident step forwards–

–and whispers broke out.

"Did she say Harry Potter?"

"Harry Potter? As in the Boy-Who-Lived?"

"Dumbledore's son?"

"That one, the black-haired one, is that him?"

Harry did not hear much more, since the Sorting Hat was abruptly put on his head. He barely saw the brim of the hat.

"Hmmm, what do we have here?" Harry heard a voice inside his head. "A clear willingness to learn, but not just for the sake of learning. Curiosity for the world around you, and yet you do not rush into a situation without thinking first. And you certainly don't belong in Hufflepuff–hard work isn't for you, is it? And you're not really loyal either, right? No, not Hufflepuff... But look what we have here... A cunning worth of the clever Slytherin himself... Well, you don't leave much of a choice, now do you? Better be _SLYTHERIN!_ " the last word was shouted out for everybody to hear.

Harry smirked slightly as he took off the Sorting Hat and handed it to a partially shocked Professor McGonagall, then made his way to the Slytherin table, where Draco Malfoy, his acquaintance through Professor Snape, already awaited him. They exchanged grins as Harry sat down.

* * *

 

”I–I feel a force warring inside me,” Harry finally broke the silence, his voice barely louder than a whisper. ”I feel darkness trying to claim me, _calling_ to me. And I–I can't do anything. I feel so helpless!” he finished in a frustrated voice.

Dumbledore put a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder. For some unfathomable reason, that did not bring Harry the comfort it used to. He barely restrained himself from shaking that hand off his shoulders.

”I'm sorry, Harry, but I can't help you. Believe me, you just have to be strong and hold on,” Dumbledore gazed down at him with sad eyes that held a strong sense of pity. Anger boiled inside Harry – how could Dumbledore possibly understand what Harry was going through? He didn't. And yet he dared to claim understand Harry's pain. Dumbledore never felt it. His father never felt the _intoxicating_ power the darkness gave, the strength it brought on, the freedom it offered. Harry knew he had it all within his reach, ready to be put to use if Harry wanted to. He felt a dark area at the center of his heart and he clung desperately to it.

Darkness embraced him. The question was: did Harry want to embrace the darkness?

* * *

For a moment it was silent. Harry regarded him with a cold, detached look–very similar to the way a predator would look at its prey. They he said quietly, “I should kill you right now, you know,” he growled. “And I would be entirely entitled to do it,” he continued. “How could you lie to me, deceive me for _all those years_?

“It's been almost fourteen years,” Harry continued softly, his voice now reducing from the accusing yell to an almost pathetic whine. “Why didn't you tell me? You had so many opportunities. Why?”

Dumbledore deflated visibly his eyes devoid of the otherwise ever-present twinkle. “I'm sorry, Harry, I really am,” he murmured. “I thought that this way I'd protect you from your f-father–”

“By what? Hiding the truth from me?” Dumbledore's stutter did not escape Harry's notice, and he reveled in it.

Dumbledore nodded numbly.

“Well, you obviously don't know me at all,” Harry said harshly. His anger finally boiled over, he made a swift retreat to the door.

“Harry...” he heard when he was about to exit the room. “Harry, please–”

Harry swirled around and fixed the Headmaster with a cold glare. “Don't you go there, Dumbledore. Just don't. You don't have the right to.”

With that said, he slammed the door, leaving Dumbledore speechless.

* * *

“I want permission to study those Dark Arts books in the Restricted Section,” Harry said straightaway as he entered the Headmaster's office and promptly slouched in one of the couches.

Dumbledore looked up from the paper he was reading. “You want permission to– _what,_ ” the last word was said in a flat voice.

Harry shrugged. “I do not ask you to condone this, I just ask you to write me a slip I could give Madam Pince.”

Dumbledore eyed Harry warily. “I will not allow this, Harry. I cannot let you be controlled by the darkness that the Dark Arts would cause–“

“I have a strong will,” Harry cut him off. “I can resist the temptation. And it's not like I can't fake your signature,” Harry sneered slightly. The sneer reminded Dumbledore of another Slytherin student, one that graduated decades ago. The reminder hurt. “I just thought I'd give you a chance to do the right thing by allowing me to study those books, but, well...” he raised an eyebrow at the Headmaster.

“Harry, surely you cannot expect me to allow you to study the Dark Arts!”

“Look at it this way: either way I will learn them, you can't prevent that. I can't resist letting them be. They sort of… reach out to me, if you will. It is a most unsettling feeling. If you won't let me learn the Dark Arts here–well, that's too bad, I will visit Knockturn Alley, maybe buy a few of the less legal books, study them in hiding. You would never know what kind of knowledge I would get.

“But if you allow me to study the Dark Arts here at Hogwarts, you would at least know what I would be learning and, if the situation got out of control, you could interfere,” Harry smirked at Dumbledore's now thoughtful expression. “Do you still think it's a bad idea?”

Five minutes later, Harry waltzed out of the Headmaster's office, a paper in his hand and a smirk plastered on his face.

* * *

It was time for another meeting of the Order of the Phoenix. The members were all gathered around the kitchen table at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. Some were tired, some worried, most were both, and some were plainly sleeping. It was, in fact, three in the morning, and the Headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix was cramming with people, something one might consider unusual, considering the clock. But everything has its reasons, and so did this happening.

There was an attack on Diagon Alley this very afternoon.

It was the first public appearance of the Death Eaters in four years. People shopping on the Alley that day were panicked beyond reasoning. Many civil wizards and witches had gotten in the way of the battle, sometimes getting hit by a stray killing spell, and sometimes kidnapped.

The aftermath of the attack soon escalated into a country-wide turmoil. Exactly what Voldemort was looking for.

Albus Dumbledore strode into the room. The Headmaster had an exhausted air around him and the twinkle in his eyes was missing–the only thing that could be seen in his eyes was tiredness. He sat down at the table. It took him a moment to summon his thoughts, before he could speak.

"My friends," Dumbledore began. "I am sorry to keep you from retiring to your beds, but there is a matter of utmost urgency that must be addressed. As most of you know, there has been an attack on the Diagon Alley this very afternoon. It was a spontaneous attack, planned by Voldemort solely, and we could not be warned about it beforehand nor prepare any sort of defense against the Death Eaters. Considering those facts, I must say we did a splendid job today of defending the Alley against Voldemort and his Death Eaters.

"One of them who did the greatest job today is my own son, Harry. He has showed extraordinary skills in today's battle, far beyond his age. I have long since considered letting him join the Order, but this afternoon's events settled the matter. My friends, hereby I present the newest member of the Order of the Phoenix, Harry Potter!"

At this Harry emerged from the shadows behind Dumbledore and took a seat at the right side of his father. Harry surveyed the gathered Order members–some of them were clapping tentatively, some were whispering to their neighbour, but most of them were throwing him incredulous looks.

A few were even ready to protest.

"Dumbledore, you cannot be serious about this!" Moody was by far the loudest. "You know as well as I do that the boy is meddling with the Dark Arts, very likely already on his way to master them! It's too dangerous to put him in such an important position!"

Harry threw the ex-Auror a contemptuous look. "And how does my choice of magic branch have anything to do with any of this? I could be using elven magic for all it concerns you."

"Dark Arts are evil, Potter," Moody argued.

"That's rich, considering it's coming from _you_ ," Harry shot back. "It's not what kind of magic you use, rather than how you choose to use it that matters. Dark doesn't necessarily mean evil, Moody. And are you not being a little hypocritical when you say that everyone who studies Dark Arts must be evil?” he scoffed. “If I am not mistaken, and I rarely am, you were studying them yourself a few decades ago. Something along the lines of 'know thy enemy', am I correct?"

"You should not talk of things you don't know about, boy," Moody spat. "I researched the theory because I had to. You do it of your own free will."

"Because I enjoy it, it's my hobby. Just like you have an interest in catching evil wizards and scaring everybody half to death, exorcising fluffy bunnies with pitchforks or whatever it is you do on your spare time,” a few people snickered at the mental picture. “I don't put my nose in your business and you would do well to stay away from my private life as well. If you don't, I have a few curses I've been itching to test on someone..." Harry let the threat hang in the air, enjoying the dismayed look in Moody's eyes.

Fortunately, before the situation could escalate to a full-out duel between the two Order members, Dumbledore stepped in. "I believe this is quite enough. We aren't here to watch you two fight. If you want to do it, do it in your spare time. Right now we have more important things to discuss.”

* * *

“Explain again why you think you need a new name?” Daphne threw him a bewildered look. The other Slytherins were sporting equally bemused looks.

The Slytherin in question sighed. “Because Harry is such a boring name. So mundane, so ordinary. And, most of all, it's a childish name. It's an excellent name for an eight year old, yes, but I'm sixteen, sweet Salazar!

“What I need is something unusual, something juicy, something that strikes fear–” he stopped, then snapped his fingers. “I have it!” the Slytherin exclaimed, then dropped his voice to a whisper and continued. “My friends, from now on you will call me Veison. Lord Veison.”

“Why?” Draco inquired. “I mean, Harry–”

“Veison,” interrupted Veison.

“It's ridiculous! Why change your birth name?” Daphne asked.

“Family tradition and all that,” Veison replied evasively, grinning like it was some kind of inside joke but that none of them were in on.

“You mean your father wasn't always James Potter?”

“Something like that,” Veison responded vaguely, a small smirk on his face. “But not in the way you think.”

After that, the subject was never brought up again.

* * *

Hogwarts was under attack.

That much was clear. What was definitely _not_ clear, however, was which side was winning. While the Light had more soldiers, the Dark used far more advanced spells and was not afraid to get dirty in order to win. At the beginning of the feud it looked like a certain loss for the Dark, but now it seemed the tide has turned.

Dumbledore regarded the battlefield from the big window on the second floor, standing just beside the clock. He winced as he saw another member of the Order, Hestia Jones, being brutally murdered by a Death Eater Dumbledore vaguely recognized as Augustus Rookwood.

A few feet away, the Headmaster saw Lucius Malfoy dueling Minerva McGonagall. The Professor, Dumbledore noticed with sadness, was losing quite spectacularly. While Minerva was a pretty decent duelist herself, she was no match for the vicious blonde. Dumbledore turned away his eyes as a crimson spell hit Minerva square on the chest, quickly followed by an emerald spell. When he turned back again, Minerva was laying motionless on the ground and the Death Eater was nowhere to be seen.

Dumbledore stirred at the sound of footsteps, but did not turn around. He felt, rather than saw, a figure coming to a halt at Dumbledore's right side.

“You sent for me, father?” the unmistakably cold voice of Harry Potter broke the silence.

“Yes,” Dumbledore answered, still not tearing his eyes from the battle. “Yes, I did.”

“And?” his adoptive son demanded.

Dumbledore had to smile at the tone. His son was as impatient as ever. Yet another of the things that made Harry so adorable.

“This is it,” the Headmaster finally tore his eyes from the ongoing massacre. “You and I both know it. I'm not sure I'll survive the meeting with Voldemort–”

“ _Lord_ Voldemort,” Harry interrupted in an annoyed voice, as though they've been over this many times before.

“ _Lord_ Voldemort,” Dumbledore conceded. “But that is not the point. I called you here because I wanted you to know that I love you, no matter what happens. I am telling you this now seeing as there is a great chance this is our last meeting. I am proud of you, Harry, so incredibly proud of you.”

Harry was silent for a while. “You're right,” he finally said.

Dumbledore looked over at Harry, a mix of surprise and confusion in his eyes. “What do you mean, Harry?” he inquired.

Harry suddenly smirked, taking a step towards Dumbledore. “This is indeed out last meeting,” with that he unsheltered one of his poisoned daggers, a movement so quick that it could barely be caught by human eye, and pierced his adoptive father's heart. “Goodbye, father,” Veison spat the latter word as though it were poison. “And for the record, it's Lord Veison. Harry Potter is long since dead. You killed him.”

The surprise mixed with shock and betrayal graced Dumbledore's eyes for a while before they died down forever.

Veison's malicious laughter echoed thorough the corridor.

* * *

The battle stopped when both sides saw Harry Potter exit the castle and head in the direction of Lord Voldemort.

This was it. This was what the battle was leading up to. This would seal the fate of the Wizarding World and decide who would rule it.

Imagine everyone's surprise when Harry Potter, the Chosen One and the Light hero extraordinaire, stopped before Lord Voldemort and said indifferently, “It's done, father. Dumbledore is dead.”

Silence reigned on the battlefield as the silence sunk. Everybody was too shocked to move, say anything–or even breathe.

Meanwhile, Voldemort responded, “Good. Very good. Everything is going according to the plan. Lord Veison, you will be greatly rewarded for your efforts,” he turned to the Light side. “As you can see, it is useless to resist. Give in and we may spare your lives."

Hermione's brain seemed to freeze up. It was ironic indeed that the only thought that managed to make its way through it was, _'Voldemort watched way too much TV.'_

“Dumbledore isn't here to save you this time and Lord Veison isn't interested in helping you. You have no choice but give in. As of now, I am declaring myself–”

He was cut off by Veison, who grew bored by the speech and decided to silence the speaker. Forever. With a knife sticking out from his back, Lord Voldemort crumbled to the ground, dead.

Behind him, Veison was smirking maliciously. “Hereby I, the Dark Lord Veison, declare myself the Emperor of the newly founded Magical Realm. Death Eaters, arrest these traitors,” he pointed at the members of the Order of the Phoenix.

* * *

“Silence!” the Dark Lord roared, getting thoroughly tired of the noise in the room. Instantly, all voices around the table quieted as every being in the room fixed their eyes on the Dark Lord.

They were all gathered here, representatives for all sentient magical beings. The Dark Lord had approached each and every one of them a few days ago, requesting a suitable representative for every race for a meeting that would be held in a couple of days.

And meet they did. The leaders for exactly fifty races were currently sitting around a round table, not unlike the one King Arthur had once used, trying to discuss peace treaties. 'Trying' being the key word. The whole room was in chaos. People were yelling at each other, trying to get their points across, and Veison felt a headache was coming.

He did the only thing he could think of. He silenced them with a well-placed spell.

Noticing he had now their undivided attention, Veison mentally counted down to five, then began. “Thank you for coming here. I realize that for some of you it must have taken a lot of trust, but I will do my best to live up to your expectations.

“Before we start, though, let me be clear on a matter. What all of you just did, causing that ruckus, it was unacceptable. You are above such petty resorts. The next being to scream anything at another in this room will get thrown out and won't be returning Do I make myself clear?” there were nods around the table.

“Good, now let us start. I called you here to right what my ancestors wronged. For decennia, centuries even, your races have been prosecuted,” he glanced at the werewolf leader, Kurt. “or enslaved,” he looked at the house-elf representative, Sillia, who fidgeted slightly. “by the wizardkind. And I do not understand why. Is it because you are different? Do not answer that, it was a rhetorical question,” he put up his hand as the vampire leader opened his mouth to respond. “You have powers I cannot even begin to comprehend. But I believe that, if we work together, we can right this. I will attempt to right this as much as I can, but I need your cooperation. I can't do this alone. And that is why I called you here.

“This,” he waved his hand around the room. “will be the Regime room. _We_ are the Regime, we can decide upon whatever laws we want. We have the power to change anything we would like. This will work as a democracy of sorts – with me being in the lead, of course,” he elaborated as vaguely as possible.

“Now, I have a very good idea, profitable for everyone. We will unit all the races into one Realm. This way, it's easier to handle the paperwork, you see. You would still have control of your races, of course, I would just be a symbolic leader,” as Veison said it, an inner voice in his head cackled gleefully. “We will have a Regime building, where all the paperwork would be done and where most of the official departments would be. Cutting the boring politics, it would be the official centre of the Realm. Every race would have its own department, and then there would be a few inter-race interacting departments, such as a trade department or a traveling department. Our entire market would profit from this, as everybody would be able to sell to and buy from everybody, no longer restricted by some silly decrees. We would prosper.

“Then there is the matter of security. I have planned to create a department called 'Safety and Protection'. I have planned to replace the magical Aurors with something called the _Fiducia_ , a highly-trained organization that would protect all our citizens. Then there would be one strike team, called the Elite, composed of ten of the most talented _Fiducia_ , although no more than one from each species, as to prevent all from being from the same race. The normal _Fiducia_ would report to one of the Elite. Each of the Elite would then report directly to me.

“This is my plan to create a better, safer and more united society,” Veison finished. “Are you with me?” he heard eager affirmative yells. “Good, then you just have to sign here – it's nothing, really, just a formality, really.”

As Veison watched every leader from other species naively sign his treaty without even bothering to read it, his smirk grew larger. If they only knew what exactly they gave to Veison when they signed this paper. But, then again, no one ever read the small font.

* * *

 

The members of the Order of the Phoenix were brought in to the audience room, one by one. Veison did not deign to look at the assemblage of people. Instead he gazed out through the window, surveying the beautifully dark green forest stretching up to the horizon. The silence in the room was palpable.

At last, when all of the Order members–disarmed and cuffed–were kneeling before the grand silver chair that served as a throne did Veison look back at them. In his eyes, they were pathetic excuses for magical folks, they were creatures Veison deemed less worthy than himself.

“You all know why you are here,” he started with a positively predatory smirk. “You were caught trying to form a rebellion against my Realm, and are therefore charged with treason. You will be executed at dawn tomorrow in the heart of the Realm Building. Do you wish to add anything?” he asked them with a challenging look.

“The wizarding world won't stand for this!” a young witch cried, her brown eyes blazing with righteous fury.

Veison chuckled. “Oh, but they will, traitor Granger. Do you want to know why?” he did not wait for her answer, instead continuing in an amused voice. “Because I have achieved what no man has done in half a millennium. I have united all magical creatures into one society, I have created peace unlike any other. And by that I mean absolute peace.

“No longer will there be fights between wizards and werewolves, every race is equal to the other. No longer will Muggles stick their filthy noses into our business, because we have become independent of them. No longer is blood pureness important, Muggleborns are as much worth as purebloods. The Magical Realm will only expand, never again will it shrink. Muggleborns will still be brought into our society, but no being, be it wizard, vampire or elf, will be let back into the Muggle world.

“To my people, I am the merciful Dark Lord who has given them all they could possibly desire. And you,” he pointed his finger at her. “You are a rogue group that wants to destroy that peace, and in the name of that naïve fool Albus Dumbledore, no less. Whose side do you think the people will stand on?” Veison gave her a triumphant look. “They will cheer as we burn you tomorrow. Ironic, don't you think? The same people you have sworn to protect at all costs want nothing more than to see you dead. They will laugh tomorrow as you, the last filthy scum of our respectable society, will burn to ashes,” Veison concluded with a malicious laughter.

Veison then turned his eyes to Neville Longbottom, who stood at the back of the group, his eyes downcast. “Traitor Longbottom,” he said in a voice that echoed around the room.

Everyone's eyes turned to look sympathically at Neville while the man in question was gazing up at the Dark Lord. “Yes, my lord?”

Veison smirked. “Your information concerning the illegal rebel group has been very useful indeed.“

There were gasps from nearly all people in the room. Nobody expected Neville Longbotton, weird and clumsy but ultimately compassionate and kind Neville Longbottom of all people to turn traitor.

“But surely you can understand I cannot make any exceptions. If I would spare your life, I would be encouraging treason. But worry not, you will die knowing you have served your purpose,” Veison smirked, making it sound like he was throwing away yet another, now useless, puppet from his manipulative games – which was exactly what he was doing.

Neville whimpered, partially from the cold glares he received from his fellow rebels, and partially from the doom that now awaited him. He had hoped to be spared, maybe even praised.

But, as he realized rather quickly, he had hoped in vain.

The Dark Lord Veison's sinister laughter filled the audience room as the prisoners were escorted back into their cells to eat their last meal.

* * *

The newly self-declared Emperor Veison stood on a cliff somewhere by the Pacific Ocean, two small stones in his right hand. He looked at them before swinging his arm and throwing the stones far away, deeply into the sea.

By the trees not too far away stood a single person. A blonde woman whose eyes were a deep azure. “Veison,” she called out to his as she neared him. “Why were you throwing them into the water? Were they...?” she couldn't bring herself to finish the sentence.

“My Horcruxes,” he finished, looking at her coldly. “If you ever tell anybody...” he trailed off in a threatening voice.

“I know. I won't tell a soul,” she promised. “But why stones?” she continued. “I mean, of all the things you could've used–”

“People are attached to things, and that makes the vulnerable,” he answered tersely. “I've noticed it when I helped Dumbledore destroy my father's Horcruxes. He wouldn't let go of his attachments. It made him weak and easy to destroy. If there is something I learned from my father, it is that one should not become too attached to things, because then one becomes predictable–hence easy to kill. I won't make the same mistakes he did,” with that he gazed off into the ocean.

“This way it will be impossible to find them, as I will _Obliviate_ us both so we cannot be used later on to find the location if my Horcruxes. No one will think of the ocean as the hiding place, and even if they did, the stones are very small and completely indistinguishable from all the other stones down there, and are protected by an enormous amount of protective spells, including the anti-Summoning charm. The stones are so deep in the ocean that no amount of magic can help anyone find the stones. Even Hermione, with all her knowledge, wouldn't be able to find these stones–if she was still alive to try it, of course. Ever heard of the Occam's razor? A simple solution, and yet so hard to overcome in order to get rid of me. This way, I will be truly immortal. Nobody will be able to kill me,” he smirked coldly at this. “I will be truly unstoppable.”

 

**Author's Note:**

>  _Fiducia_ : Latin, meaning confidence, faith, security.
> 
> Veison used Dumbledore's and Voldemort's murders to create his Horcruxes.


End file.
